


Refuge

by zeteram



Category: Destiny (Video Games)
Genre: (in a good way), M/M, pure fluff, this took a turn I wasn't expecting
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-28
Updated: 2020-03-28
Packaged: 2021-02-28 18:28:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,622
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23351698
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/zeteram/pseuds/zeteram
Summary: Osiris finds the time to take a short break from pursuing the Darkness, and he invites Saint-14 to join him.
Relationships: Osiris/Saint-14 (Destiny)
Comments: 15
Kudos: 109





	Refuge

**Author's Note:**

> I've been playing with the idea of involving Pariah's Refuge for a while, and this seemed like a good opportunity. The conversation at the beginning is a continuation of the moment Osiris's Reflection shows up at the end of a Flawless Trials run.
> 
> According to videos, anyway, because lol at ever being good at PVP myself.

`Text-tightbeam-Vanguard-OXIV-encrypt:7-3-1-21-3-arc`

XIV: I said you did not need to watch me.

Osiris: I did not watch because I needed to. You handled it well.

XIV: Perhaps because I am not a miser with my praise for those who have earned it.

Osiris: This, after I have just complimented you?

XIV: DId I claim not to have earned it?

Osiris: Saint-14’s Insurmountable Ego, it should have been called.

XIV: That shall be a new prize for a Flawless run. Thank you for the idea, Brother.

Osiris: I’ll visit you again as soon as my work permits.

XIV: Try not to lose track of time. I have only four free days a week now, and the birds must be fed.

Osiris: Should there be another threat to linear time, you will be optimally positioned to hear about it.

XIV: As soon as your work permits. Do not forget.

\----

Another long weekend of Guardians beating the tar out of each other in the newly-revamped high-stakes Trials of Osiris had drawn to a close. A few stragglers that had technically started their match before the deadline finally finished up their game, and off in the distance Saint-14’s figure interacted with them expressively until all prizes were obtained and they eventually left. Saint tidied up a few things and then stood, arms crossed, in a posture that clearly said he was waiting.

Exactly five minutes after the last Guardian had departed, Osiris transmatted to the surface of the Lighthouse, feeling the familiar crunch of sand over stone and the bright heat of Mercury’s setting sun. Even the air tasted better here--or, if not better, at least more familiar than the other places he’d been recently. It had become a home to him, despite its viciousness.

The other, more recent version of _home_ was jogging over to him now.

“Do people tell you how annoying it is that you are precise with your arrival times?” Saint-14 shouted as he drew closer, and Osiris grinned under his scarf, bracing slightly in case he was going to be on the receiving end of a Titan tackle.

“You have,” he called out, “several times. I fail to see what is annoying about striving for accuracy.”

“ _Striving_ is not annoying, my friend. Always succeeding, that is the annoying part.” Saint skidded to a halt a bare foot away, creating a tiny cloud of dust. He reached out with one hand to touch Osiris’s arm and, feeling it solid, closed the remaining distance and enveloped Osiris in a giant bear hug.

“I said I would be here,” Osiris gasped, struggling for breath but sorely tempted to laugh in relief regardless. He snaked his arms around Saint to squeeze tightly for just a moment.

“I am glad you were not delayed,” Saint replied, which, fair, there had been many times in the past when he’d not kept promises even as simple as meetings. There had always been some reason he couldn’t reply or some new threat he had to research that kept him from the people who worried about him. Somehow, personal relationships had taken a backseat to Osiris’s insatiable curiosity and hunger for knowledge.

Every action had its consequence. Osiris wasn’t going to let this second chance with Saint-14 fall to something so easily avoidable as a broken promise.

“You’re here on Mercury at my request. I know that does not come easily to you.” Saint had relaxed his grip enough to let Osiris breathe, but he didn’t pull away just yet. The sharp scent of plasteel filled his nose, underlaid by the sunbaked smell of Mercury itself; the heat of the Sun was welcome after the chill of the Lunar catacombs he’d just returned from.

“I am still not going to enter the Infinite Forest again,” Saint grumbled, nuzzling at Osiris’s neck in a gentle gesture at odds with his tone and getting an almost inaudible sigh of contentment in return. “This is as close as I will get.”

“I will not ask you to enter it ever again, Saint,” Osiris reassured him quickly. Not least because he didn’t want to lose Saint in its halls again, but there was also a consideration to be made for Saint’s peace of mind. There were plenty of other Guardians who could deal with its threats. “But if you’d care to get out of the sun, my quarters lie only a short distance away.”

Saint hummed in consideration, but after a moment he squeezed Osiris again and let him free. “Your argument has convinced me. It is too hot here.”

“I would call it pleasantly warm,” Osiris said drily, but he held open his palm to call up Sagira.

“Good to see you, Saint,” she said as soon as she compiled in. “One housecleaning service?”

“Yes,” Osiris acknowledged. “No Cabal this time?”

“Nope,” she said. “Looks like the Spider kept up his side of the bargain. There. Give them ninety seconds to clear out and then it’s safe. Hey, is it alright if I share this protocol with Geppetto?”

“You may do so.” Osiris nodded to Saint’s shy Ghost, who was peeking up over his spiked shoulderplate curiously. “It directs the Vex to leave the sector; once they have vacated it, we may transmat in without interference. Sagira, set the beacon to attune to Geppetto’s signal.”

“Excuse you, I did that _months_ ago. It’s not my fault you were too stubborn to ask before.” He swatted at her and growled, and Sagira and Saint both laughed.

Once Sagira gave the all-clear, they transmatted into the large, open chamber in Pariah’s Refuge and Saint made a satisfyingly impressed noise. “ _This_ is your house?”

“My workroom outside the Forest,” Osiris clarified, amused in spite of himself. “My living quarters are further along. It will take a moment; look around, if you like.” As Saint and Geppetto began poking around curiously at the various books and paraphernalia he had around the room (nothing vital out here where assorted Vex, Cabal, and Guardians were free to roam), Osiris and Sagira sent commands to an innocuous-seeming section of the wall. After a few minutes, the solid stone vanished. “Come along.”

He led the way into a short, dark hallway with a lit room around a corner and called up the stone wall again as soon as his visitors were inside. “This,” he said, stepping forward to the turn in the hall and knowing it was dramatic but relishing it anyway, “is my home.”

The Vex had created the large workroom outside; it was their place, though added to and decorated by Osiris. But its shape was Vex, its bones were Vex, and there was no escaping their influence.

Inside his private quarters was a different world.

To the left, an artificial brook ran through a shallow but broad open space. Along its shores grew a mishmash of plants from the Dreaming City, Venus, Io, Earth, and even a few from the arcologies of lost moon colonies. The scent of running water and growing plant life was a sharp contrast to the arid sands above. To the right was a long hallway lined with bookshelves, but rather than a straight corridor it curved off into the distance - a fractaline spiral with a meditation room at the center, lit by an errant sunbeam reflected down by mirrors and diffused by a set of paper lanterns to a more gentle glow than the harsh light as above. Ahead, the hallway split off into three lobes with a writing desk and tiny matterforge in one, a kitchen and dining area resplendent with the pungent smell of spices in another, and his bathing area and bedroom in the last. It was asymmetrical, colorful, and unlike every other structure on Mercury built to a human scale rather than a massive one. It was a place he’d made to his exacting specifications, and one he could truly relax in by various means.

“It is beautiful,” said the usually-quiet Geppetto, and Osiris looked at her in surprise.

“Thank you, little one,” he said, and glanced over at Saint, who still hadn’t spoken. Suddenly worried, he reached out to take Saint’s hand and squeezed it, which got a reassuring squeeze back.

“It is you,” the Titan said quietly, voice full of wonder, and Osiris felt his anxiety unclench. “Even the garden. I would not have expected that, but it is right.”

“It’s important to have a little chaos around,” Sagira piped up. “And the plants are useful. He even got queensfoil to grow here once!”

“Why don’t you show Geppetto around?” he suggested flatly, getting a giggle from both Ghosts.

“Come on. I never get to show this place to visitors.” She led the other Ghost through to the meditation room, probably to show off the sunlight, and Osiris glanced back over at Saint, who looked like he was itching to look at everything.

“Do you get _any_ visitors?” Saint asked instead, which surprised Osiris.

“Ikora,” he said softly, “though only recently. The list of people I trust implicitly is a very short one.”

Sagira. Ikora. Saint. And a Guardian he owed everything to, for bringing him back into the world.

“Osiris,” Saint breathed, and some note of desire in his tone made the blood rush to Osiris’s face. He could feel his neck getting hot, so to hide his discomfort he crossed his arms defensively.

“If you were not on that list, I would have spoken with you briefly at the Lighthouse and then left.” He knew Saint wasn’t purposefully being obtuse, but surely he knew by now that Osiris had difficulty stating things plainly.

“I know that,” Saint said crossly, and he closed the distance between them, placing his hands firmly on Osiris’s shoulders. He suppressed a jump, but found himself grinning when Saint suddenly dematerialized his helmet and he could see the hungry look in those glowing purple optics. _Ah_. So he hadn’t been wrong about that tone of voice. Osiris licked his lips, mouth suddenly drier than the desert alone had made it.

“You honor me with this gift,” Saint continued, a rough note in his voice making it sound almost like a growl. Osiris uncrossed his arms and wrapped them around Saint’s waist, drawing him closer to show the advance was welcome. “Once again, you have shown me a part of yourself that you do not share with others. How do you expect me to repay you, Osiris?”

“You are here, standing before me. That payment alone is sufficient,” he replied, knowing there was also a note of some deeper emotion coloring his own voice. There always would be, wouldn’t there? Nothing between them was without the weight of their history, but ever since this fresh start Osiris had resolved not to let old angers and griefs come between them. The anger was easy to let go: it had long since faded.

The grief lingered, but it was mostly transmuted into resolve not to ever let anything come between them again. Mostly.

“That does not seem like enough,” Saint grumbled. “I am sure if you thought about it very hard, a smart man like yourself could think of something else I could do for you.” Osiris clenched one hand into a fist behind Saint’s back, trying _not_ to think of what Saint was implying (which, naturally, meant it was all he could think about). Saint, unhelpfully, leaned his head forward and whispered into Osiris’s ear. “Is your bed large enough to share, my bird? Have you thought of me in it, lying alone?”

He had to swallow before he trusted his voice, and he could almost hear Saint laughing at him, but Osiris did manage to answer. “It is not, in fact, but I have a great deal of pillows and blankets. The floor could be made comfortable.” It was already more comfortable than the bare stone outside by virtue of rich carpets in the living areas and patterned tiles in the spaces with water, but it wouldn’t take much to turn it into a proper nest. If Saint was determined to call him a bird, birds they would be.

“Take off your mask, Osiris, and answer my second question.” That was definitely more of a growl.

Osiris smirked and his voice steadied, feeling a little more in control of the situation now. “I will do one of those things. Choose wisely.”

“You are insufferable,” Saint complained. “But you do not deny it. That is answer enough for me.” He ran a gauntleted finger gently down the falcon’s-beak crest, tracing it from tip to base. “Please. I would like to see your face again.”

“Very well.” Rather than just removing his helmet and scarf, though, Osiris shifted his clothing entirely to what Saigra called his loungewear: silks and cottons in his favored colors, elegantly patterned and loose enough to allow freedom of movement but much lighter than armor. Aside from his ship, this was the only place he truly felt comfortable wearing clothes that did not double as protective gear; even the City had its dangers. Here, thanks both to its concealment and his constant passive monitoring of the Vex network, he could count on at least the few seconds he’d need to armor up again if something threatened him.

The outfit also flattered his figure, so it wasn’t a surprise when Saint made a noise of approval and leaned in for a kiss. Thanks to some terrible design oversight on whoever had made Exos originally, most of the work was left up to Osiris, but he didn’t mind in the slightest; the noises Saint was making more than made up for it. It didn’t have the desperate hunger of their first coupling a few weeks ago, but neither was it chaste or light; an affirmation more than anything else. When it was done, Osiris sighed in contentment and relaxed into Saint’s grip for a moment. The persistent heat absorbed by his armor after standing out in the sun all weekend was going to take a while to fade, but it was a comforting radiance.

Even so, it took Osiris more than a few breaths to bring himself to ask the obvious next question, afraid as always that the answer would be _no_. “Shall I arrange for sleeping on the floor, then?”

“Please,” Saint said promptly, and he must have felt how Osiris relaxed even more after that, because he followed it up with “I want to stay with you, Osiris. If you will only rest from your work on occasion, I will spend as long with you as you will have me.”

That warranted a kiss along Saint’s warm, metallic jawline. “Even if it keeps you from your pigeons for another night?”

“Do not let them know I said this,” Saint said conspiratorially, stroking the silken fabric on Osiris’s neck with his broad thumb, “but they are very bad at telling time.”

“They will not hear it from me,” Osiris said lightly, and kissed Saint again briefly on the mouth before pulling away. “Go. Look around. I can see you’re burning with curiosity.”

“That is not all I am burning with,” Saint muttered, to which Osiris chuckled as his face was cupped by a large hand. Their eyes met for a moment and, satisfied by what he saw there, Saint released Osiris and started investigating the books on the winding hall. He wondered idly how long it would take Saint to realize most of them were novels, or if Sagira would rat him out, the wretch. Oh, there were copies of the more useful texts there, along with a beautiful manuscript of Ikora’s thesis, but his actual research materials were all digital, stored out in the workroom, or both.

Hopefully Saint wouldn’t find the collection of badly-written Battle of Six Fronts tribute fiction he kept to amuse himself.

By the time he got everything in the bedroom arranged to his satisfaction, Osiris could hear Saint and the two Ghosts in the kitchen and smell spice tea brewing, so he padded out to investigate. Saint had traded out his armor for more casual clothes as well, denim and a tight-fitting shirt that left little to the imagination, and was poking through the cupboards while Sagira rattled off some story about recovering the silverware from Eliksni pirates out in the Reef. Osiris, careful to make just enough noise that Saint wouldn’t react with a punch, walked over and embraced Saint from behind, closing his eyes and nuzzling against the back of Saint’s neck, earning a contented sigh from the Titan.

“Tired of having me pry into your belongings already?” Saint teased, taking one of Osiris’s hands up to his mouth for a kiss.

“No.” He didn’t elaborate for a moment, instead drinking in the pure physical sensation of Saint’s body against his and the comfort he felt from it, here in his home. “I built this as a refuge for myself,” he continued finally, still pressed up against Saint’s back and inhaling the scent of heated metal and coolant particular to Exos mixed with the cardamom and pepper from the kitchen and the cinnamon of the brewing tea. It gave him the courage to continue, though he felt balanced on the edge of a knife. “Yet you are not out of place among the things I love most.”

Osiris felt Saint freeze under him, predictably, so he kept his eyes closed. He didn’t want to see the look of rejection or disgust or--

Saint shifted around and gently lifted Osiris’s chin with one finger, speaking in a gentle tone. “Look at me, Osiris.”

He did.

What he saw wasn’t rejection or disgust or sorrow or anything but warmth and the strong current of joy that Saint-14 seemed to always have, sometimes riding closer to the surface and covering a deep well of hurt but other times riding clear and steady, and always informing his choices. At this moment it was burning brightly, and the tremble in Saint’s voice was the only indication that he might, possibly, be as unsure of himself as Osiris was at this critical moment.

“In all the centuries I have known you, you have never been less than one of the most important figures in my life. I have called you _Brother_ because it shows people that I love you in spite of all our differences, because you and I are connected by more than friendship. I think perhaps this made you believe I only loved you as a brother.”

Osiris opened his mouth to say something, but Saint hushed him with a finger on his lips. “I will tell you when I am done talking. Be quiet.” Osiris nodded, biting back a relieved smile that might be bordering a bit on the nonsensical, because surely he wasn’t hearing what he thought he was hearing? And yet Saint kept talking, and Osiris was trapped both by his own admission and a desperate hope. “I do not know where the fault lay between us in the past. I do not _care_ , because when I heard your voice again after so long in the Infinite Forest, when I finally saw you and felt your Light, Osiris?” His optics dimmed and he smiled, remembering. “Perhaps you did not put a name to it at that time, but I knew then that I would always love you.”

Osiris caught his breath, and wasn’t sure he would ever breathe again. Not if it meant missing Saint’s words right now. 

“I said to myself, I will not tell him unless he speaks first, knowing you might never say anything, because that is how Osiris is. Even in his times of anger or fear, he does not use words unless he means them. I wanted you to mean it, if you felt it at all.” His eyes brightened up again and he smiled, looking almost predatory. Osiris felt himself shiver involuntarily and grabbed at Saint’s hand, feeling the vice-like grip bite into his flesh. “But I want to be sure, because if I proceed now and I am wrong about how you feel toward me, it would destroy me more thoroughly than the Vex ever could.

“So I am asking you, Osiris, and do not weasel your way out of this. Do you mean what you just said?”

“I do mean it,” Osiris said firmly. Just like that, Saint had bolstered him and supported him, when it would have been so easy to tear him down; this fragile construct they had made between themselves had perhaps not been so fragile as all that, if they both wanted so desperately for it to last. And, just as critically, Saint wasn’t going to make him repeat something that was difficult for him to say in the first place, had understood that Osiris would take a thousand Red Legions head-on before admitting to something that could be a weakness in himself, even if Saint didn’t see it as a weakness at all.

And he didn’t even make Osiris elaborate, instead pressing their mouths together insistently and demanding another kiss, to which Osiris acceded gratefully. Into it he poured his anxieties and fears, his slender hopes and desperate wishes, and he was granted in return steady faith and relentless optimism against even the worst of odds. What he was afraid to ask for, Saint gave him freely. All he’d needed to do was open the door.

He understood, now, his dream of the candle whose flame only grew brighter instead of snuffing out; he had, as it had happened, been thinking of Saint alone in his bed at the time.

In the end, Osiris was going to have to get a bigger bed. He wasn’t going to be alone anymore.


End file.
